


Godspeed, Mr. Burr

by putconspiraciesinit



Category: 19th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, Political RPF - US 19th c.
Genre: (doesn't actually happen but it is a plot element), Aliases, Angst and Drama, Execution, Gen, Historical, Law Enforcement, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Thomas Jefferson Doesn't Actually Appear But He Is Significant To The Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23010973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/putconspiraciesinit/pseuds/putconspiraciesinit
Summary: A dramatization of the time Burr came really close to meeting his end in 1809. I couldn't find much about what happened except that he was arrested by the British but instead of sending him to America they gave him a passport to any other country, which is a pretty cool story shrug emojiAnyway, enjoy yet another story in which Burr Has Jefferson-Induced PTSD[free real estate voice] it's historical accuracy
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Godspeed, Mr. Burr

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I've barely been writing at all lately, I am incredibly sleep deprived at the moment (like, rapidly approaching election!Burr levels of sleep deprived) so my brain is FRIED.

He was shabbily-dressed and his smile was more one of exhaustion and relief than one of enthusiasm, but he otherwise matched every description given of the colonies’ most wanted fugitive. When it was eventually discovered that he had arrived in England only the previous July, it was absolutely certain; “Jonathan Kirby” was, in fact, Aaron Burr.

“By order of the British Crown, you are under arrest.”

“For  _ what _ ?” asked the short man. “I’ve not left my house all day, constable. I don’t see the illegality of--”

“You can drop the accent,  _ Aaron Burr _ .”

Within a quarter of a second, “Kirby”’s cheerfully bewildered demeanor turned to one of visible terror. He backed away from the constable, mentally debating whether to make a run for the apartment door or the window.

“I didn’t do it,” he said simply. “Leave me be, if you please.”

“Mr. Burr, you have been declared  _ persona non grata _ by the government. You being here at all is an illegal act.”

Burr reached into his coat and drew out a small pistol.

“Put down the gun, Mr. Burr,” said the constable.

“Let me go, then.”

“Be reasonable--”

“Am I not being reasonable? Do you not know what they’ll do to me, if I show my face in America again? He has eyes everywhere, he’ll know the  _ second _ I set foot in the country. I  _ will not _ allow myself to be killed without a fight, constable.”

“Mr. Burr--”

“Don’t come any closer, unless you’re interested in making like Alexander Hamilton!” growled Burr.

“Mr. Burr, it is currently broad daylight; don’t make me alert everybody in the general vicinity of your presence. You’d have a great deal of trouble, I think, in attempting to gun down ten men with one Queen Anne pistol.”

“Please don’t do this,” Burr pleaded. “You don’t understand.”

“Please put down the gun, Mr. Burr.”

Burr complied, visibly fighting back tears. The constable approached him slowly.

“Right, so--”

As soon as he was close enough, Burr shoved the constable to the ground and bolted for the apartment door, slamming it behind him and making for the stairs. About five seconds later he could hear footsteps running after him.

“Mr. Burr!”

“I did  _ not _ go through  _ all of that _ just to be captured again and killed less than two years later!”

Burr ran as fast as his legs would move, but he was not a young man anymore and he was  _ certainly _ not a fit one, and was quickly overtaken and tackled to the ground.

“As I was saying,” panted the constable, “you are under arrest.”

“I won’t stop trying to escape, you know. I’m terribly sorry for all the trouble, but I am--” All at once, Burr felt completely overwhelmed with panic. “I am  _ really _ not in the mood to be  _ fucking executed _ ,” he sobbed.

He took several rapid breaths in an attempt to calm himself, but was unsuccessful.

Somehow, in some incredibly disturbing way, it felt as though he was already back in court. As though the events of two years prior were all occurring again, all at once. He could just about  _ feel _ the eyes of the crowd waiting with baited breath to watch him hang, he could almost  _ hear _ the jeers, the mob standing outside waving their torches and pitchforks, chanting  _ hang him, hang him, hang him, hang him! _ The memory of Jefferson’s face had never been clearer in Burr’s mind, not since the day he’d last seen the man himself in person.

“Mr. Burr?”

Suddenly, Burr was back in the present day, lying on the floor of his apartment building, an entire ocean between him and Jefferson. He gasped for air, realizing he’d been holding his breath for an uncomfortably long time. His chest felt as though it was being physically weighed down, keeping him from breathing.

“I--” Burr let out another choked sob, staring intently off into space. “You don’t know…”

For a moment, nobody spoke. The hallway was uncomfortably silent.

“Look,” said the constable. “I don’t like that Thomas Jefferson man one bit; I don’t know what the Hell happened between you and him, and I don’t know much about colonial politics, but that he’d threaten us with  _ war _ over one fugitive tells me enough about what sort of person he is. But he  _ did _ threaten us with war if we knowingly allow you to reside here, and I can’t risk a war for any one person’s sake, you see.”

“I know,” said Burr. “You aren’t doing anything wrong. I only...I thought it was over. I thought I’d outlasted him.”

“Well now, don’t admit defeat just yet, because I have a proposition for you. The official mandate is England can’t harbor you, so you can’t stay here. That being said, I don’t necessarily have to send you directly back to the colonies. I can get you safe passage to...well, wherever. Just so long as you leave England. Once you’re out of the country, if anybody asks, I can say you escaped when I arrested you.”

Burr, finally able to steady his breathing and stop crying, took a few deep breaths and sighed. As quickly as they had come, the emotions were gone, leaving Burr’s mind less of a frantic whirlwind and more of a barren wasteland, utterly devoid of activity of any sort. He pointedly did not make eye contact with the constable, afraid that if he did, he would start crying again.

“You...you’re serious.”

“I am. Look, I’ve no  _ desire _ to get you executed, Mr. Burr. I may not be party to it, but it’s right clear to me that there’s something... _ bigger _ going on here, with you and your president, and to be quite frank, I don’t particularly  _ want _ to be party to it.”

“Oh, God,” said Burr, chuckling bitterly. “You don’t know the half, sir. You are quite right not to want any part of it; I suppose there’s no need to tell you what happened with the men who captured me two years ago.”

“No need at all.” The constable smiled.

“You’ve saved my life,” said Burr. “I threatened you with a pistol, pushed you over, ran from you, and you’ve gone and proceeded to show me more sympathy than anybody has in years. If there is anything I can do to show my gratitude...well, anything not involving money, as I have none, but I am truly in your debt.”

“Just leave England and I’ll consider that debt paid.”

“Right. Could you get me on board a ship to...Sweden, I think. I can’t see how it would occur to him to look for me there.”

***

The biggest advantage of not having many worldly possessions was that it made travel a lot easier. Burr didn’t have to worry about moving around with only some clothes, a journal, a pocket watch, and a few pistols to his name. Everything he had could fit into two trunks.

“I would ask your name before I leave,” said Burr, “but it is probably safer for us both if I don’t know.”

“I shall take your word for it,” said the constable.

“You know, the man who captured me before, Bigbee Perkins, you remind me of him, a bit. I mean that as a compliment. He was a good man. Concerned with doing justice rather than  _ punishing _ perceived wrongdoers. Sometimes I forget there are people like that out there, what with everything that’s happened these past few years.”

“Well, I’m not particularly against punishing wrongdoers, but I like to have reason to believe they’ve really done any wrong, besides the word of an insane politician from another country.”

“How very reasonable of you.”

“Thank you. I try.”

“I would say you succeed.” Burr smiled. “I suppose I should get going; Jefferson’s unholy obsession with killing me never sleeps, I fear. Once again, I really can’t thank you enough.”

“Godspeed, Mr. Burr. I hope you outlast him.”


End file.
